Hospital Beds
by land of a thousand words
Summary: Hermione Granger awakes in the hospital, only to discover that the world is not as she had left it.  Slight AU, one-shot.


Title: Hospital Beds

Author: tinkercannon / land of a thousand words

Rating: PG-13 / Soft R

Warnings: Some non-explicit sexual content, angst, minor character death.

Pairings: Draco/Hermione

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Harry Potter or it's many characters created by J.K. Rowling. Nor do I claim any kind of responsibility for the title of this work of fiction, which comes from the song "Hospital Beds," by Cold War Kids.

Summary: Hermione Granger finally awoke one cool, gray morning in early autumn to the sound of beeping; with a faint tapping for good measure. Slight AU, one-shot.

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><p><em>"We've got no chance of recovery, laying in hospital; joy and misery."<em>

Hermione Granger finally awoke one cool, gray morning in early autumn to the sound of beeping; with a faint tapping for good measure. Echoing, like that of raindrops against glass. Shoes squeaking against floors that were too clean for their own good. Muffled sobs, a faint shout. But quiet, for the most part, except for that eerie combination of close beeping, and far-off tapping. Beep. Tap. Beep. Tap.

She was afraid to open her eyes. She couldn't be certain how long she laid there, conscious and awake, but with eyes closed. What would she see when she opened them? It's all well and good to hear sounds and make associations, but sometimes her mind just can't help but wander. Sometimes it travels to nice locales; white sandy beaches she visited with her parents, Quidditch pitches and breakfast at the Burrow. But sometimes... sometimes it was dark. Wet, smelled of death. Sounded like screaming.

Her eyelids slowly opened and her room was... surprisingly empty. Truth be told she wasn't that torn up about it. She would expect to see her friends soon, but right now, honestly, it did feel good to be alone. To acclimate of her own accord. Only she wasn't alone, at least not technically. She opened her mouth to emit a small gasp, only to find herself rather frozen.

Draco Malfoy had gotten quite big in the year or two since they'd left Hogwarts. Sixth year he'd taken to looking a bit ill. Hair a little less bright, all skin and bones, kept to himself; too scared to speak. Too scared to do much of anything. Until one day his best friend was killed. And then his mother, and then his father, and then he showed up at the doorstep of Number 12, looking a bit like death warmed over. She hadn't thought that he could've looked worse than when he wandered the halls of Hogwarts like a ghost. She'd been wrong. It took him a while, but he found his feet eventually. Started coming to meetings, developing strategy after strategy after strategy. It wasn't surprising that he was so good at it; he just had a knack. He'd been fighting with the Order for a year or so now. Even though he'd gotten bigger he did look awfully small in that bed. His hair was a little longer, a little less blonde (that hadn't changed). He had some stubble lining his face and she thought, _God, he must hate that._ Which of course made her wonder if he could even hate at all.

"Stop it." Her own voice sounded foreign; all raspy and dry. The sound barely even left her mouth, and it made the room seem even more empty. She no longer felt thankful for being alone, and she looked to the door longingly, if only to ignore the occupied bed across from her own for just a moment longer.

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><p>The next time she had woken up was more akin to what she had been expecting previously. Harry on one side, Ron the other, both speaking quietly towards the end of the bed. She made a dry sniffling sound and they both whipped their heads towards her, Harry giving her one of his signature gentle smiles, Ron doing his best to hide any kind of overpowering feeling that could sometimes make her feel ten times better or ten times worse. Right now it was worse.<p>

"Hermione," Harry had said gently, squeezing his hand around the tops of her fingers. She pointed to the pitcher of water on her bedside table and Ron quickly poured her a glass. They both stared at her while she savored the crisp, cool taste of it sliding down her throat. She wasn't rushing this, they'd waited God knows how long, they could wait a little bit longer.

When she wasn't so parched, a minute or two later, she finally spoke and was relieved to find that her voice was familiar and comforting once again.

"How long have I been asleep?" She tried to ask as confidently as possible, although an edge of fear tugged at the ends of her words. A day, a week, a month... a year?

"Only a week or two 'Mione," Ron responded. She couldn't help but think that the reason their voices remained so low was for Draco's benefit. He must just be asleep then.

She breathed out a sigh of relief (for two reasons, but they didn't need to know that), and Harry started to speak before she could even get out her next question.

He sat down on a horridly upholstered chair but kept his fingers clasped around hers, "You remember going on that last raid, correct?"

"Yeah, we'd just received some fairly important information concerning the location of Bellatrix?"

"Yes," he continued, "...You and Draco volunteered to go; Tonks and Ron went with you." She nodded in assent. This was where her memory started to get a little bit fuzzy. "This intel wasn't just fairly important, Hermione, it was everything we could have hoped for. We knew that she had a dozen safe houses hidden throughout the country, but this was the one that we _needed_ to find. This was her Number 12; not only did it contain locations of other Death Eater rings, it was also supposed to house a library of Dark Magic. Dark Magic that we need to understand in order to take down V- You-Know-Who."

So the trace was still active then. _"No saying the name of the Big Bad Wolf, you understand?" - "Yes, mum." _She was starting to get a little worried now. He was being too cautious in his retelling. She'd woken up in the hospital plenty of times before; normally he would just come right out with it, he would never go into detail about why they had needed to do something. She knew why, she'd known why ever since they were 11 and she'd followed him down into the very bowels of Hogwarts itself. She'd known; she would _always _know.

"Just come out with it Harry!" she said exasperatedly.

Harry peeked a quick glance at Ron, probably hoping that she wouldn't notice, but she did. She noticed everything, they should know that by now.

"You got the information Hermione, you and Draco, you both got it - you were _brilliant._"

"So brilliant," Ron echoed with a smile. He was sitting at the end of the bed now, down by her blanket covered feet.

She didn't know if they were just calling _her_ brilliant, or referring to both her _and_ Draco as being "brilliant." They never did give him enough credit.

"Hermione... I'm sorry." Harry let go of her hand to take his glasses off and toss them carelessly on the bed. She watched him pinch the bridge of his nose, and she wanted nothing more than to slap him upside the head. Who apologizes for something like the world is about to end without even mentioning what they're apologizing for?

"We knew about you and Draco, 'Mione." She didn't act surprised that they knew, even though she was surprised; she was more taken aback that Ron was the one telling her, and that Ron wasn't turning that familiar shade of Weasley red. All up at the tops of his cheeks, splotchy on the forehead and neck. Ron and Harry exchanged another one of those infuriating looks, and Harry looked back down at the floor, "You were pregnant."

Now she was surprised.

* * *

><p>A month earlier.<p>

_She kind of liked all this sneaking around. Even though they'd been sneaking around for a decent amount of time now, she still liked it. It wasn't even a matter of being "ashamed," or some such nonsense. It was just the desire to have something that was all her own. A piece of information that she didn't have to share with everybody else. And she told him so._

_"I like having you to myself," she said, wrapping her arms around her bent legs. They were sitting across from one another in the old antique bathtub she'd found a few weeks earlier. She had placed a concealment charm around this room; she'd let the others find it later, but right now this was something else that was hers. Theirs._

_He gave her one of his rare smiles and spread his arms behind him to rest against the porcelain edge. The steam was making his hair flop down over his forehead and she wanted to say something silly and wanton, something like, "You're looking devilishly handsome today, if I may be so bold." But she didn't. She kept it safely locked away in her head to giggle about later. When she needed a laugh. Because she knew she would need one sooner or later._

_Like something out of a Jane Austen novel he responded, "But the pleasure is all mine." She laughed, and the sound was muffled by the lingering steam. The water swished and rippled as she moved forward, straddling his thighs as best she could and wrapping her arms possessively around his neck. He kept his arms resting against the tub, even though he knew she was just dying to feel them around her waist, wrapped around her back, gripping her legs... anything._

_"Stop giving all of your attentions to this bloody tub, Malfoy."_

_He raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow and drawled, "Oh, it's Malfoy now is it?"_

_"Only if it has to be."_

_It was one of those rare, but precious moments when they couldn't stop laughing when they were together. Even when she was making ridiculous, shiver-inducing noises and he was being that confident, intense lover he'd always been, they would still laugh. She wouldn't be able to think straight for a few minutes but then she would start laughing again. It was beautiful._

_After the water had gone cold, and the sweat had dried from their skin as they lay tangled in the rose-patterned sheets she'd taken from home, he'd whispered across her skin all the things they'd do when the war was over. It was fairly unintelligible, and she had a hard time concentrating what with the feel of his lips brushing across her spine and the warm breath blowing across her neck. And then he finally made his way back to her lips and she'd swallow it all. Take it all in and never breathe it out._

"Did you hear me, Hermione?" Harry was looking at her now, his eyes wide and impossibly green. "Hermione?"

She closed her eyes and when she shook her head she could feel the greasiness in her hair when it brushed across her cheeks. "You said were. You said, 'were pregnant.'"

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry," she hissed, but immediately recoiled. "It's fine. It's... it would have been a bad time anyway."

She was looking down at her hands but she knew they were looking at each other again, thinking maddening things like, "Poor Hermione. She'll definitely be good and crazy now. As if shagging Draco Malfoy wasn't already enough cause to send her to the looney bin."

The rational part of her brain knew that they would never think those things. No matter how much they may not have understood her relationship with Draco, they would never call her crazy. Never doubt her when she had her mind made up. They knew it was one of the only things she could count on. _Until old antique bathtubs and rose-patterned sheets_, she thought sadly. But it didn't matter, sometimes, in situations like this, rationality didn't necessarily work out.

She looked back at Harry, who had put his glasses back on. He seemed a bit put out, to have to see the world clearly again. As if taking them off would somehow make things less real, make everything alright again.

"Draco, he's... he's aright, isn't he? I mean, he's just sleeping."

Thankfully there was no back and forth over her head, and Harry let out a sigh of relief saying, "Yes. He's sleeping. He got hit with a Crucio, but he's fine. He should be awake soon."

She wouldn't cry yet. She desperately wanted to, just out of sheer thankfulness, but she'd wait. She was never one to lose it in front of others; even those who she trusted most. There were a few more quiet words exchanged, condolences and the like, but after two well-meaning, loving kisses to her forehead and hands they left, but the sadness hung in the room like thick, suffocating smoke.

The air was cold when it hit her bare legs, but it felt good nonetheless. At least she knew she wasn't numb to everything. The floor was just as shiny as she had imagined, a bit waxy beneath her bare feet, and the trek to his bed was longer than it should have been. It was long because she knew that he'd been awake; long enough, he had been awake. He made no outward indication, but there were just some things, you knew. There was no way he could have stayed asleep.

She gently swiped her hand across his forehead, pushing his hair back. "Draco," she whispered into his ear, "it's alright." She had been resting her face against his cheek, eyes closed. There was a scab developing where her nose touched his skin, and it felt rough, but good. He was healing. He would heal. When she raised her head to look at him, she found herself staring into his grey, wet eyes. She tasted tears without even knowing she shed them, and without hesitation she pulled his covers back and slid in next to him - relishing the feel of his feet, his legs, his stomach against her own.

He brushed soft kisses against her lips and whispered into her skin until she slipped into welcoming oblivion.

End.


End file.
